Memory
by VillainsAreMoreFun
Summary: Emma is emptying boxes in her new home when she comes across a pile of disturbing pictures. She can't remember the man in them, but something is achingly familiar about those piercing blue eyes. CS. Alternate ending. (Takes place after Swan Song (5x12))
**A/N: This was actually I dream I had. I dreamy about Emma crying over a shoe box for some unknown reason, so I decided to write it. Of course, it had to be emotional. Enjoy!**

Two months.

It had been approximately two months since Emma had been freed from the burden of being the Dark One. Every day since then felt like a blessing. After enduring having her soul painted with the darkness inside her, Emma longed for some level of normalcy. Even weeks after, Emma could still vividly recall the ever present crushing weight that seeped through the crack in her heart and settled there, seeping into her scarlet blood and traveling throughout her body. Every word, every breath, was toxic. If she closed her eyes, Emma could imagine the dagger hissing that familiar shrill tone in the shrouded recesses of her mind.

Even after she had been saved by her family and friends, it had taken Emma another month to gradually begin to move on with her life. She had been reluctant at the start, weary of the newly accessed, raw magic coursing through her veins, essentially making her an ever ticking time-bomb. It was Henry who had found the house.

It was an elegant shade of blue, equal to that of the nearby ocean. The interior was stunning. Emma only found one issue; the basement door, which for some odd reason was sealed shut. No amount of magic could open that door. Emma had decided to finally move in at Henry's insistence. Her son had seemed extremely intrigued by the house. Something about it enchanted Emma as well. Whenever she crossed the threshold, a pang of misery erupted from her stomach. She ignored the mystery that accompanied the house and, in less than a week, she and Henry had moved into their new home.

That was where Emma was now. She was dressed in a pair of light sweatpants, and a t-shirt much too large for her that was covered in the lingering smell of the sea. She felt the corner of her lips twitch up in a smile as she imagine what a domestic scene this must look like. Her, seated on the recently polished floor, sipping at the steaming mug of cocoa in her hand as she gazed at the cardboard boxes surrounding her.

With a grumble or two, Emma pulled the box nearest to her close and began to rummage around in it. All the large, heavy furniture had been dealt with by Robin and David yesterday. Regina had offered to come over early in the morning and assist her with all the decor, but Emma turned her down. This was something she needed to do herself. Something private. It doubled as a coping mechanism as well, since she slowly fell into a state of content as she sorted through the dozens of boxes. Not quite joyful yet, but content.

The day went on, and the number of boxes began to dwindle. Emma only left the room to get a tub of Nutella and loaf of bread. The afternoon sun was streaming through the drawn blinds when she finally reached the last box. Emma found her hand remained limp in her lap as she stared at the box. Instead of triumph, all she felt was a sick sense of foreboding deep in her chest, right where her heart should be. She let out a shaky breath, willing her body to surrender to her command. With a trembling hand, Emma grasped the edge of the cardboard and drew it in close.

There was nothing too alarming at first. A few frames containing pictures of her parents, and of Henry. Her old pair of chunky black glasses. The picture of her and Neal, accompanied by the swan pendant he had given her. She felt a small smile grace her face as she gazed at the happy couple in the photo. That picture had been taken a lifetime ago, back when her only defense mechanism had been to run, rather than stay and fight for those she loved.

She felt the dread begin to build up as she continued on. Only one thing remained, tucked tight into the corner of the box. A small shoebox, insignificant in every way. Yet Emma could not stop the tremors running through her arms as she lifted it out and gingerly set it in her lap. There it remained for the next few minutes. Emma merely stared at it. She could feel the haunting aura encasing it seeping out through the air. There was something sinister locked tight in there. Something she obliviously did not want to recall.

With bated breath, she removed the lid.

Polaroids littered the bottom. Each one was delicately peeled away from the cardboard and held up for examination. Emma stifled a sharp gasp of surprise as she recognized the focus of each one. It was her.

She cautiously removed all the photos. Each contained her beaming at the camera. In every one, she was beside a stranger. A rather dashing stranger. Her mouth, once stretched into a small smirk, had begun to form a thin line as she observed the man that made a cameo in every one of the polaroids. He had feathery black hair, paired with two shockingly blue eyes. His skin was a healthy tan colour, with the exception of a pale scar curving under his eye. As she flipped through each photo, a sense of terror roared deep inside her, until every breath she drew came out sharp and raspy. She had no memory of this man. No recollection at all of any of these photos being taken. Yet there was something so compelling, so hauntingly natural about the man. A familiarity, like the way her raven hair dangled aggravatingly in front of his ocean irises.

Emma scanned through dozens of them. Photos of them eating fries in her usual booth at Granny's Diner, laughing together as the sprawled out in a patch of grass besides the pond, sitting at the edge of the docks as the dying sun behind them set the water alight, casually leaning up against her trademark VW Bug with their fingers intertwined, and finally a polaroid of them side by side in her parent's apartment. Kissing.

Emma could only gape in astonishment at the last one. Her eyes were instinctively drawn to the defined cheekbones, the scar curling underneath his eye socket, the dark ginger scruff covering his angular chin. Something clicked in the back of her mind, but no matter how hard she searched, Emma could not find any hint of triggered memories. All that she was left with was a growing sense of terror, and a haunting sense of familiarity. She definitely knew this man.

"Who are you?" Emma whispered to the man in the photograph. The weighted question hovered there, dark and foreboding.

 _Who are you?_

Casting the disturbing photos aside, Emma fumbled around in the box. A sense of vigor had woken inside her, and she choked back the fear. She needed to remember. When she emerged from the box this time, her fingers were wrapped in a plain silver chain. As she removed it, she caught a glimpse of the object adorning it. A ring, the same silver color as the chain it was on. Without any hesitation, Emma slid the necklace over her head. The metal burned cold on her sternum. It felt natural. Instinctively, her hand gravitated towards the ring, and she began massaging the cool metal between her fingertips.

Her hand drifted back into the shoe box. Already Emma had settled on an explanation for her lose in recollection. Scenes played out before her; the Dark Swan removing her family's memories, and later taking care of her own. That was the only logical reason behind all of this. If she had wiped her own mind, then there was a trigger somewhere. Her palm brushed against something smooth and thick. With a vicious tug, Emma yanked out a sable leather jacket, similar to her own scarlet one. She held it out before her, eyes roaming over the garment. She glanced at the nearby photograph and let out a triumphant cry. It was the same jacket the stranger adorned in every photo. After a moment's hesitation, Emma slipped her arms into the sleeves. It smelt akin to her shirt; a mixture of a saltwater and the faint stench of rum. She glanced at the box, and, with no small amount of trepidation, leaned forward to observe the final memento.

A bundle of ravaged and grimy cloth was jammed tight into the corner. That is all it was. A ratty piece of fabric. Emma frowned, choking back her disappointment. There was nothing there to help her unlock the section in her mind that held the trapped memories of the mysterious stranger. Emma let out a breathy sigh. With a heavy heart, she grasped the edge of the fabric in preparation to remove it.

Her head exploded in agony.

 _Killian Jones. But some people have taken to calling me by my more colourful moniker. Hook_

 _You need me!_

 _Don't be afraid to, you know, get really into it._

 _I was hoping it would be you._

 _I'm always a gentleman._

 _I don't mean to upset you Emma, but I think we make a pretty good team._

 _Try something new darling. It's called trust._

 _Have I told you a lie?_

 _When I jab you with my sword you'll feel it._

 _Hey beautiful._

 _May I have it back, or is there another attachment you'd prefer?_

 _Perhaps I needed reminding that I could._

 _I actually fancy you when you're not yelling at me._

 _Perhaps you're the one who couldn't handle it._

 _As you wish._

 _When I win your heart Emma, and I will win it, it won't be because of any trickery. It'll be because you want me._

 _There's not a day that goes by I won't think of you._

 _I know you can't remember me but. . . I can make you._

 _I came back to save you._

 _If it can be broken, that means it still works._

 _Killian come back to me._

 _What did you do? What did you do?!_

 _Don't you care about them, or anyone in this town?_

 _You cut quite the figure in that dress._

 _There's only one rule. Pick a partner who knows what he's doing._

 _You're depriving me of a dashing rescue!_

 _The best we can do is to try and live in the here and now._

 _I always knew there was a little pirate in you Swan!_

 _You traded your ship for me? Aye._

 _Swan are you avoiding me?_

 _I have all the time in the world. Unless another monster appears and kills me._

 _Well, love, you don't have to worry about me. If there's one thing I'm good at it's surviving._

 _You look stunning, Swan._

 _Afraid you won't be able to resist me after a few libations?_

 _Will you go out with me again?_

 _I just wanted to be a better man for you._

 _I'm a fan of every part of you._

 _I'd love to learn more about your beginnings._

 _Goodbye._

 _I told you Swan. I'm a survivor._

 _I don't intend to let you down._

 _Don't you know Emma? It's you._

 _I can tell your heart is uneasy and it's my job, well I hope it's my job, to protect your heart._

 _Go. Save your boy._

 _Don't do this. I love you._

 _We can find another way, together._

 _You look- I know._

 _It didn't bloody work. Why didn't it work?_

 _This isn't who I am._

 _I loved you._

 _C'mon love. Let's sail away._

 _I'll never stop fighting for us._

 _Calm down Swan I'm not proposing!_

 _Bring her home to me._

 _I've had worse cuts itching my nose with the wrong hand._

 _You can't even see any future at all with me._

 _A reminder that all sins can be forgiven when someone loves you._

 _I love you, Emma Swan, no matter what you've done._

 _Our future is now._

 _You have to let me go._

 _I'll just be happy knowing you'll have one._

 _You're so afraid of losing the people you love that you push them away._

 _I want to hurt you like you hurt me._

 _After spending centuries quelling my bloodlust you threw me right back into that darkness!_

 _You clearly don't believe in me anymore, so how am I supposed to fight this?!_

 _I love you too._

 _That man died the moment you turned him into a Dark One._

 _If you didn't want me to change, you should have let me die._

 _And I don't want to lose you. But you have to let me go. Let me die a hero. That's the man I want you to remember._

 _I love you._

Emma's jade eyes blew open, accompanied by a sharp intake of breath. It rapidly developed into a sob as every contained memory poured out and engulfed her. It didn't matter that her eyes were burning, or that her cheeks were slick with tears, or that the floor underneath her was bucking and writhing. All Emma could do was clutch at the lapels of the jacket as she floundered among the memories. Every breath was a shuddering gasp, and she began to hiccup as the tears continued to stream down her face. Crying was the only thing that lessened the agony, the white hot burning that started in her head and crawled towards her heart, until Emma felt like she was a living ember. Then came a pause in the sobs, in the endless tears, in the frantic gasps for air. It was a pause that granted her the permission to speak a name she had never thought would grace her ears again. Though it came out choked and thick, it rang clear in her mind.

"Killian,"

When Henry stepped across the threshold of his new home, he knew something was off. Then he heard the sobs echoing in the halls.

Emma.

His rucksack crashed to the wooden panels as he skidded in his mother's room. All he needed to see was the shoe box, empty and with its contents scattered mishappenly across the carpet, for everything to click into place. Henry was at Emma's side in an instant, arms wrapping around her waist. Her tears soaked through his flannel, and her entire form shook against him. Henry knew she would scold herself later, tell herself that she needed to be strong, but he didn't let go. He simply tightened his embrace as she wept into his shoulder. Held her as she sobbed for the man she could never forget.

 **Read and review please!**


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